STREETLY,
STAFFORDSHIRE MEMORIES
(1936
- 1961)
A WALK UP
THE CHESTER ROAD
(August 1944)
2.
The Parson & Clerk
by Chris Myers
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2.
The Parson & Clerk
We walk out of the Park through the little
gate. It doesn't close itself after us, like it used
to. I think the spring is broken. A lot of little
things like that are broken, these days, and don't
get mended. I expect the bloke whose job it is to do
this sort of thing is away somewhere, probably
fighting Jerry or the Japs. We pull it to behind us
and latch it.
Before we move
off, I look across the road at the Parson and Clerk
pub. There is a large building behind it which I've
seen before and interests me. It's round or oval and
is made mainly of thick pieces of timber and it has
a thatched roof over the top of it. There are two
openings opposite each other so that people can walk
into it and stand out of the rain. All around the
inside, except where the openings are, there is this
sort of wide shelf, about as high up as my chin.
(Remember that I'm eight and so not all that tall!)
Above the shelf it is all open, with no windows.
Just the upright chunks of wood which support the
roof. I think that the idea of it is that people can
stand there on a summer's evening, drink their pints
in the fresh air and have somewhere to put the
glasses down and have a good time without getting
wet if it starts to rain. They can have their kids
there too, because we aren't allowed inside the pub,
as you know. I think it must be super if the weather
is warm and people start to get a bit tipsy and
jolly. It's probably quite cosy. And friendly.
I try and
visualise a summer's evening over there, prewar. A
Sunday, perhaps. There will be masses of cars
parked, Morris 8s, Austins 10s, Ford Prefects (like
Dad has). And, here and there, swankier cars,
Armstrong Siddeleys, Rovers, SS Jaguars with long,
gleaming bonnets and massive headlamps. The odd MG
two-seater or even a little three-wheeled Morgan. It
is always the big American cars which interest me
the most. Perhaps there are one or two there as
well. Buicks, Packards, Chryslers. I once had a good
look at a two-seater Lincoln Zephyr. Brown seats but
they were really one bench seat and so three people
could have sat on it. I always look at the
speedometer and this one went up to 120 m.p.h. (It
wasn't in the car park here, though, this one was parked
outside Cutler's Garage, by the Hardwick). I was
very pleased to see it because I have a pre-war
Dinky Toy model of one. When you stick your nose
through the open window of a car like that, and they
are all the same, there's always a lovely smell. Of
course I did that to the Lincoln because the
driver's window was down. I said to Dad that I
thought it smelt of speed, like all the others. No,
he said, it's the leather. But I still think that
it's speed that they smell of. And it helps when
there is a whiff of petrol as well.
All this time,
the owners of these cars, and their families, are
either inside the pub or in this outside shelter
having a final pint or a gin and orange before
carrying on back to their homes in the Birmingham
suburbs, in Erdington or Quinton or Harborne. They
have all had a good day out, I expect. On Cannock
Chase or further away, at the seaside at Rhyl or
Barmouth or in the Welsh mountains. The cars are
resting, quiet, waiting for their master to come
back. Just an occasional tick or crack or creak as
they cool down after their journeys. And then, much
later, not long after closing time, and after the
landlord has rung a bell and shouted out "Time,
gentlemen, please" and the last pints have been
drained, there will be a slamming of doors, shouts
of cheerio, the cars revving up and finally pulling
out on to the Chester Road or Sutton Oak Road and
they will all be gone. The car park will be empty.
As it is now. As
is the funny shelter thing. There is no one about.
It's usually like this now. Including at weekends.
I know the Parson
and Clerk used to be my dad's favourite pub. What
they call "his local". A long time ago, possibly
even before I was born, Dad had a bit of a problem
there. The landlady accused him of bumping into her
and causing her to spill her drink. She wasn’t very
polite about it, even though he was a regular
customer. Dad wasn’t happy about this at all but
offered to buy her another one. But he also said
“and if you accept that offer I shall never step
foot in this pub again”. The landlady took the drink
and Dad took his business to the Hardwick Arms where
it still is and will probably stay for as long as he
lives. Dad is a very nice man but he expects other
people to behave the same way. That’s the story I
was told and I know that Dad will keep to what he
said.
And that's why Graham will probably never meet
up with him there. Anyway, the
Hardwick probably suited them both much better. It’s where
a lot of their Home Guard pals used to go for a pint and to
discuss tactics. They still do, even though Graham
has been away for so long now and some of the other
younger men have been called up into the Army or RAF themselves. The friends who still
meet up are mainly older blokes, like Dad himself or like Mr Naylor
or Mr Broomhead who live at
the bottom of Hardwick Road. They are in the same
platoon as Dad at Little Aston Hall. Not in the big
house itself but in the stables. Our local bobby, Mr
Cope, goes there as well. I expect there are a lot
of others. I have never been inside of course.
Children aren’t allowed. You have to sit outside
and wait - with a glass of lemonade and a packet of crisps, if
you are lucky. And so I have never been in the
Parson and Clerk either and probably never will. I
know the outside well enough. I
do wonder what it looks like inside, though.
This family
and local history
page is hosted by
www.staffshomeguard.co.uk
(The Home Guard of Great Britain, 1940-1944)
Please see INDEX page for acknowledgements.
All text and images are,
unless otherwise stated, © The Myers Family 2022
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Streetly and Family Memories
1936-61
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L8B
April 2022
